Kiera Hudson & The Adoring Artist (Kiera Hudson Series Three Book 3)

by Tim O'Rourke

  “It was never my intention – or Uri’s – to want to hurt Doctor Ravenwood,” she started to explain, peeking out at me from behind her dark fringe. “We just wanted to capture him – stop him from hurting anyone else like how he tried to hurt Sophie. He was our friend too – he was like us – one of The Creeping Men. I never wanted to see Doctor Ravenwood dead.”

  I looked at her doll-like face – it had an impish quality. There was something very likeable about Phebe, but there was something else too – like I couldn’t really trust her. I wanted to. I felt more at ease in her company than I did her boyfriend. It appeared that he pulled all the strings in their relationship. Was she even a little scared of him? Maybe scared was too strong a word, but I couldn’t help but notice how she seemed meeker when he was about, like a turtle disappearing back into its shell at the first sign of danger. If I’d trusted her more, perhaps I would have dared let her into my confidence and tell her that I wasn’t so sure that Doctor Ravenwood was dead. I might have told her that when I’d returned to the spot beneath the willow tree where he had fallen, his body had vanished. It had either been stolen away or he’d gotten up and flown away. I couldn’t be sure of either, but more importantly, I couldn’t be sure who I could trust in this where and when. And until I knew who my true friends were, I’d keep it a secret about what I had discovered when I’d gone to bury Doctor Ravenwood.

  “I’m sorry Doctor Ravenwood is dead too,” I said, turning away and heading up the stairs to my room.

  Pulling my clothes from me, I let them drop to the floor. I was too tired to pick them up. Wearing just my underwear, I closed the curtains, glancing down at the desk where someone had left a bottle of Lot 13 for me. Who had done such a thing, I had no idea, but I would find out. I would make it my business to find out. I would see who had left it in the end. But for now, I just needed to listen to some music to help get me off to sleep. Who was I trying to kid? The music was to drown out the sound of Potter telling me that it was me he truly loved and not Sophie. But shouldn’t such words coming from the man I was in love with make me happy? Not when you can’t be sure if they are genuine. Not when you discover that he is with another and that they are having a child together. Words of love mean little then, however much I would like to believe them. They are nothing but shallow echoes rebounding off of what I knew me and Potter had once shared before I’d pushed him away.

  When we found ourselves alone in the summerhouse last night, I could have given myself to him – I‘d wanted to more than anything and Potter had said he had wanted me too. But I couldn’t. It would have been wrong to do so. And if I had I would only be sitting in my room now, staring out of the window and regretting that we had.

  But you’re regretting that you didn’t? A voice spoke up from deep within me.

  Potter isn’t mine in this world, I reminded myself and the voices of doubt. As Potter had stood before me in the summerhouse, dripping wet with rain, he had confessed that he’d wished he’d waited to find true love – that he’d waited for me to come into his life. I’d never heard such words come from Potter before – he always struggled to find the right ones. But it was because he had confessed his love to me so eloquently that I grew ever more convinced that the Potter in this where and when wasn’t my Potter – not the one I had fallen in love with. This Potter was a faint reflection of the man I was in love with. He had said that he believed there was another Potter deep inside of him fighting to come forward and be heard. Was that my Potter – somewhere deep inside of the man – screaming to be heard – screaming to remember me?

  Knowing that I was doing little more than torturing myself with such unanswerable questions, I plucked up my iPhone, and rolled onto my side on the bed. Wearing the earphones I thumbed through the track listing. I had no idea who had filled the iPhone with so many songs. I selected Good Gracious by Ellie Goulding and closed my eyes. I let the music wash over me, as I fought back the flood of questions that still filled my mind. And with sleep slowly encroaching at the corners of my brain, I heard the song change to Bad Moon Rising by John Fogerty. Had the song I’d selected changed so soon? My sleepy mind wondered as I let sleep take me to some other place.

  Chapter Three

  “Samantha Carter!” I gasped, opening my eyes and sitting upright. The room was in darkness apart from a blue strip of moonlight that fed in through a gap in the curtains. Clutching my throat, I gasped in deep lungfuls of breath. My throat felt dry, my skin hot to the touch as if I were coming down with a fever.

  The name I’d woken with on the tip of my tongue forced its way to the front of my aching mind. “Samantha – Sammy Carter,” I whispered, my hands still at my throat. Who was she and why had I called out her name? I didn’t know or as far as I could remember I’d never met anyone with that name before. But as sleep scuttled back into the furthest reaches of my mind, so did images of werewolves, a preacher, and a man named Harry. Who were they and why had I dreamt of them and not my brother Jack? And as I reached out in my mind to hold onto those last fragmented shards of my dream, I knew that there had been someone else in my dream. I’d dreamt about Potter too. We had been together like we had once been together before – before we all got pushed again. And then just like now, Potter was gone again – out of my reach and so too were the werewolves, the preacher, the man named Harry and the young woman named Samantha Carter.

  Swinging my legs over the side of the bed, I stood up, then fell back down again. My legs felt heavy, yet weak somehow, as if they were unable to support me. I felt suddenly scared – as if a wave of panic had crashed over me. Every joint in my body seemed to ache – crying out in pain. My throat was so sore, like I’d been gargling on broken glass. I needed cold water not only to soothe my burning throat but cool my feverish skin. Dropping to the floor, I crawled forward, but not toward the bathroom door, toward the strip of blue moonlight that bled through the gap in the curtains. It was like the beam of light had cut my room into two halves. On one side lay my bed, the bathroom and my feverish self, and on the other…I wasn’t quite sure what? But the light beckoned me toward it. It almost seemed to call out to me, tell me that I should lie in it – that cool blue rays would soothe my aching joints and simmering skin. It was like the moonlight was a cure to the thirst that raged in the back of my throat and filled my mouth like dust. Slowly, I crawled toward it, the other side of the room beyond the strip of moonlight that was in utter darkness. The light beckoned me forward and I felt powerless to stop myself from placing one hand in front of the other.

  And as I drew nearer, I got the overwhelming sense that I wasn’t alone in my room. It was like something huge and hulking lurked in the darkness on the other side of the moonlight. Although I couldn’t see what was hidden there, I knew that it watched me. It skulked back and forth in the darkness like a caged lion. Back and forth. Back and forth. Over and over. Its eyes watching me from the darkness on the other side of the room. Inch by inch, I heaved myself forward, scraping the bare floorboards with my fingernails. My legs trailed weakly behind me, skin feeling as if it had been doused in petrol then had a flame put to it. Gritting my teeth, I fought the urge to cry out, fearing that if I did the pain in my throat would intensify to such a degree that I may never speak again. I had never felt so much pain. It was agony. My hair hung damp with sweat over my eyes. Lifting one arm, I reached up, my fingertips searching for the light and the cure it promised me. The moonlight trickled over my fingertips and at once they began to cool. I inched forward, the side of my face pressed flat against the rough floorboards. I felt a sudden coolness against the side of my face. Opening one eye, I looked up to see that I’d managed to heave my pain-ridden body into the light. Rolling onto my back I let the moonlight shower me like a fountain. And although I still felt weak, the heat that had ravaged my body began to fade. With eyes closed, I lay there, in my underwear, star shaped as if bathing in the moonlight. It was as if it were recharging me, making me stronger somehow.

  I was close
r now to that wall of darkness. Something moved – shifted – within it again. I rolled my head to one side, staring into the black. But something told me I didn’t need to be scared of whatever lurked there. Whatever it was, was a part of me. It had always been there prowling in the shadows deep within me, waiting to be released. Lifting one arm from the floor, I reached out, beckoning whatever hid in the dark to come forward at last. As if sensing that I was finally ready to accept it from out of the shadows, the wolf came forward. It was more beautiful than I could have ever imagined it to be. As it stood on all fours, it towered over me like a giant bear. Its body was sleek and narrow and covered in a soft silky black fur, which shimmered an electric blue in the moonlight. The wolf came forward. I gently stroked its soft snout with my fingertips. It made a soft woofing noise deep in the back of its throat, its bright hazel eyes narrowing into slits as if smiling at me.

  “Hello,” I whispered, the pain in my throat now almost gone.

  Coming closer still, the wolf settled beside me, its giant paws resting on my chest as if protecting me. Then, lowering its head onto its paws, the tips of our noses touching, the wolf looked deep into my eyes. I looked deep back into hers as we soaked each other up.

  Chapter Four

  I woke on the floor, curled up on my side. The strip of moonlight had been replaced with sunlight. Its bright rays warmed my body. The wolf had gone and I didn’t doubt for one moment that it had been there. Reaching for the edge of the desk that was close by, I pulled myself up. My legs no longer felt weak, and the fever, if that’s what it had truly been, had passed. In fact, my whole being seemed to tingle with an underlying energy. It was like the moonlight had energised me, woken a part of me that had laid dormant my whole life – the side of me that I got from my true mother Kathy Seth and my brothers Jack and Nik. But why had the wolf come forward now? And did I feel happy that it had? In fact, I felt great. I’d never felt so freaking hungry in my life, but other than that I felt like an unknown part of me had suddenly been woken up – had come alive. Were these feelings going to stay – was the wolf? Why else had it come to me?

  When first being pushed into this where and when, it was as if my ability to change into my other self – the Vampyrus – had been slow at coming forward. Only had I been able to do so by looking deep inside myself and searching her out. Had the same thing happened with the other part of me – the wolf? I wasn’t aware that I had gone looking for her. Picking up my iPhone from the floor where it must have dropped from the bed last night, I searched through the music tracks in search of the song that had played as I fell asleep. The song had been Bad Moon Rising by John Fogerty, but it wasn’t one of the tracks listed on my iPhone. How then had I heard it? Just like how I’d heard the song Heroes by David Bowie before dreaming about my brother Jack. Had the music bled through from some other where and when and pulled me in?

  Dropping my iPhone onto the bed, I went to the bathroom. And it wasn’t only thoughts of the wolf that lingered at the corners of my mind. Thoughts of the young woman I’d dreamt about were vaguely there too. What had her name been? Sam… Sammy… Samantha Carter? Yes, Samantha Carter, that had been her name. But was she real or was she just part of some dream? I’d come to learn that my dreams were not just some random mishmash of ideas and thoughts, they seemed to have some significance in my life of events that had taken place or more often events that were yet to happen. But who was she, and who were the people that she travelled with? Had there been a preacher man in my dream? And although I struggled to remember now what my dream had been about, something told me that perhaps I should try and hold on to whatever fragments I could find in the corners of my mind – like the fact that Potter had been in that dream.

  Heading into the bathroom and running a bath, I stood and looked at myself in the mirror fixed to the wall above the sink. But it wasn’t my reflection that I was interested in. I wanted to see deeper than that. I wanted to see beneath my skin. With water tumbling from the taps and filling the bath behind me, I closed my eyes and sought out my other self – the creature with the wings, fangs, and claws. And just like she always did, she came forward out of the darkness, her hair blowing long and black behind her, face so pale it was the colour of snow, lips blood red and eyes blazing. Her wings fluttered about her bare shoulders, claws at her sides. I looked deeper, past her into the darkness. There was something there at her side. The wolf came forward and I stumbled backwards, the backs of my legs colliding with the edge of the bath. I kept my eyes closed, my internal eyes fixed on both of my other selves. It was the first time that the wolf had come forward. It stood black and sleek as my other self with the wings as she reached down, losing one of her claws in the wolf’s fur as she stroked it. And as I stood and looked at them standing before me, I didn’t feel scared like I always feared I would. For the first time in my life, I felt complete.

  With what sounded like rain falling and my feet suddenly feeling wet, I opened my eyes.

  “Shit,” I gasped, seeing bathwater dribbling over the edge of the tub and onto the floor. I twisted the taps until they stopped. Taking a fresh towel, I moped up the water. Once the floor was dry, I climbed into the bath and sunk beneath the water.

  With my stomach crying out to be filled, I threw on a pair of jeans and a hoodie and headed down into the bar area, stuffing the key that Ravenwood had slipped me and my iPhone into my pocket. For once I would try one of Uri’s breakfasts. I was starving. Just as always, Phebe was tinkering behind the bar. She always looked like she was doing something very close to nothing.

  “Hey, Kiera,” she smiled, glancing up at me.

  I smiled back and took a seat at the table nearest to the window. There were four other guests at the tables dotted about the small dining area. They were too engrossed in their food and the morning newspapers to pay any attention to me, and why should they? It was nice to be able to sit and eat without being gawped at. That was something close to impossible to do when I had stayed at the Crescent Moon Inn before. Then, the locals had done nothing but stare. There was something nice about going unnoticed, getting lost in the crowd.

  “What can I get you?” Phebe said, appearing at the table. She handed me a breakfast menu. “Remember you can have anything you like. The Creeping Men…”

  “Are paying,” I finished for her. Then smiling back at her, I said, “Okay, I’ll have two large steaks – very rare – and a pot of tea.”

  “But steaks are only on the dinner menu,” she said.

  “But you said I could have anything,” I reminded her with another smile. “And I’m starving.”

  “Okay,” she sighed with a shrug, taking the menu from me.

  I watched Phebe head back across the dining area and into the kitchen where the door swung shut behind her. Looking away, I stared out of the window as my stomach flipped and somersaulted at the smell of bacon coming from the plates of the other diners. I stared out across the fields that spread out on the other side of the road opposite the inn and couldn’t help but wonder if Kayla and Isidor were out there somewhere. Both Murphy and their father Lord Hunt had told me that they had simply gone away, but both had been vague at best as to where exactly they had gone and why. Why was my friends’ whereabouts such a secret? Murphy had told me that Kayla hadn’t liked Sophie. Part of me could understand that – or was I just being mean? I’d found stories written by Isidor in his locker at the offices of The Creeping Men. When I mentioned these to Murphy, he’d said that Isidor had often written stories about a girl with pink hair who was covered in tattoos. I knew those stories were about Melody Rose. Were those stories Isidor’s memories of a girl that he had once loved – is that how he had come to be inspired to write them? And what of Murphy, Pen, Meren, and Nessa? Murphy seemed not to have any memory of them whatsoever. He claimed to have woken up in the back of some police van after being shot by Potter. Both seemed to have a vague notion that they had once been friends, but could remember very little else. Neither seemed to have any know
ledge of The Hollows. But what then lay hidden beneath the hatch back at the office? Did it lead down into The Hollows like it had once done so before? I’d tried to find out but it was locked. It wouldn’t take much for me to buy myself some bolt cutters and remove the lock and see what lay beneath. I could do it undisturbed as Murphy lay at the mercy of Mrs. Payne in the hospital wing at Hallowed Manor and Potter was there too, nursing Sophie as her body adapted to becoming a vampire. What would they think on their return to find that the hatch had a new lock? They would know it had been me who had been snooping. Did I really care about that? Not really. But what really deterred me from opening it was what lay beneath it. What if I pulled that hatch back to reveal some tunnel that led to that secret world below? What then? Did I go and get Potter and Murphy and say, “Hey look, guys, you don’t remember, but this is where you really come from! Why don’t you climb down and have a look inside?” And what if they did, what would they find – what would be lying down there for them? They obviously didn’t remember for a reason. Who was I to break that spell? What damage could I cause if I did? What cracks might start to appear?

  “Here’s your tea and steak,” Phebe suddenly said, placing down a plate and pot on the table before me.

  I turned my attention from my thoughts and back to her. “Thanks,” I said looking down at the two large steaks she had placed before me. They swam in a pool of blood red gravy on the plate. My stomach lurched with greed.

  “Are you really going to eat all of that?” Phebe asked. “You’re so small.”

  “Small, but with a big appetite,” I mused, eyeing the food before me.